


Barely Breathing

by corvidcall (anathema15)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Introspective Angst, background starla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathema15/pseuds/corvidcall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Sometimes I just want to make a decision without worrying about how he’ll feel about it. It's just.... it's suffocating, you know? He’s suffocating. I don't know, Shermie," Ford said, in the other room, "You're lucky YOU don't have a twin."</i><br/><i>(Wh...what?) </i><br/>-<br/>Stanley overhears what Ford REALLY thinks of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barely Breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [С трудом дыша](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534961) by [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot)



> Inspired by http://fiddlestanwich.tumblr.com/post/131058334546/so-of-course-im-thinkin-au-where-teen-stanley
> 
> (obviously this fic runs on the assumption that the baby in ATOTS wasn't Shermie, but was either another sibling or Shermie's child)

Stanley pulled off his shoes before coming into the house. He was breathing hard, his forehead covered in sweat from his run.

Ford had been working on his homework, and the sound of him  thinking so hard (not to mention the sound of him clicking his pens and talking to himself) had made Stan antsy, and his combined boredom and barely-repressed energy distracted Ford. So, he'd gone for a run around the block to work it off. He hoped Ford was done now, because he wanted to work on the Stan-O-War again tonight.

"-just so overbearing ," he heard Ford say. Who was he talking to? Their parents were out that night. Was he on the phone? "Sometimes I just want to make a decision without worrying about how he’ll feel about it. It's just.... it's  suffocating , you know?  He’s suffocating."

Probably about their dad. Both Stan and Ford grated under his constant presence.

"I don't know, Shermie," Ford said, in the other room, "You're lucky YOU don't have a twin."

Wh...what?

Stan's mouth went dry. Distantly, he could hear Ford say more things, but they sounded so far away. He could only catch a few phrases over the sound of waves crashing in his head-  "...meant for more than New Jersey...dragging me down..." before eventually Ford thanked Shermie for listening, said his goodbyes, and hung up.

Stan struggled very hard to breathe normally. He needed to do something. ANYTHING.

He ran into their shared bedroom and grabbed his boxing gloves from their spot hanging on his bedpost.

"Lee?" Ford said, walking into the room, "I'm not done yet, but soon we can-"

"I'm going to the gym," Stan said, quickly.

Suffocating, he thought,  dragging him down.

"Oh," Ford said, "I thought you wanted to work on the Stan-O-War later?"

"Well, now I wanna go to the gym."

The worst part was that Ford didn't seem to question it at all. He just shrugged and told Stan to have fun.

Stan practically ran to his car and drove to the gym in a daze. Once there, he went straight to the punching bag in the corner and attacked it viciously.

It felt better to be doing something, if only marginally. He'd never been able to sit still and just think through his problems the way Ford could. He had to keep moving, get his blood pumping, or he'd fall apart.

Ford thought he was suffocating? Stan was just trying to be a good brother. Neither of them had anyone else, so they had to support one another... right?

Had he been wrong this whole time?

He held out a hand to still the punching bag, breathing hard.

"Hey, kid," said a voice behind him, "You got a mean left hook."

 

His first boxing match was in about 2 months. Seemed one of the original boxers had injured himself training and they needed a last-minute replacement. And that's where Stanley came in. All he had to do was show up and do his best, and they'd pay him, win or lose.

(Although he fully intended to win.)

He waited to tell Ford until their parents were home, so he could tell everyone at the same time. And Ford seemed almost... hurt by the fact Stan had kept good news a secret from him for any amount of time.

Stan ignored it, too busy focusing on his father, whose eyes filled with not quite pride, but approval, certainly. Stan was finally doing something  right .

"Guess you're finally putting those muscles to good use, huh?" Ford said, giving his brother a friendly clap on the shoulder. Stan looked at him, and Ford was looking back expectantly. But what was he expecting? Stan couldn't remember how they used to interact. All he could think was  suffocating, suffocating, suffocating.

He forced a smile and an awkward, "Yeah, guess so," before pulling away.

Ford furrowed his brows, but didn't seem interested in following up or asking questions about it, so he let it drop. Stan wasn't sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.

 

Stan kept quiet during lunch, for what was probably the first time ever. Normally, he talked ceaselessly, telling Ford about every aspect of his day, even though Ford had been there for almost all of it.

Now, a heavy silence hung over them as Ford quietly read his book, taking some notes on potential projects for the upcoming science fair. Occasionally, he looked up at Stan over the top of his book, like he was waiting for Stan to tell him what was wrong.

But Stan offered nothing, and Ford didn't ask, and the heavy silence remained.

 

"H-hey. Hey!" a girl called out, running after Stan and grabbing his shoulder. "Stanley, right?"

"Uh...yeah?"

"I saw your boxing match last weekend."

"You did?"

"Yeah. My dad's real into that kinda stuff, so he dragged me along." She started walking beside Stan to his next class. "You looked really cool."

"Oh. Thanks?" Stan wasn't sure if anyone had ever described him as "cool" before. Certainly not a pretty girl. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

"I'm Carla McCorkle," she said, not at all thrown by the fact that she was making almost all the conversation.

"Stanley Pines. But, uh, you knew that, I guess."

She called you by name earlier, Stan. Stupid, stupid, suffocatingly stupid.

Carla smiled and twisted a lock of brown hair around her finger.

"Do you wanna see a movie together sometime?" she asked.

"Uh. Y-yeah!" That was unexpected, certainly. He'd never been asked out before, and Carla was pretty enough that she could probably have any guy she wanted.

"How about Saturday?" she said, "Around 7?"

"That sounds great," Stan said, smiling at her. She smiled back.

"I'll see you then, Stan."

She gave a little wave as she walked into her classroom. Stan waved back before running to his own class, and dropping into his seat with a goofy, excited smile plastered on his face. Ford, next to him, raised a curious eyebrow, but when Stan offered no explanation, he scowled and turned back to his schoolwork.

 

"So... how was your date?" Ford asked. It was late, but he was still wide awake, open books and loose schematics spread out on the living room floor around him.

"Fine," Stan said, hanging his coat up on a hook by the door.

"Just 'fine'?"

"It was FINE, Ford," Stan snapped, "What do you want me to say?"

He headed for their bedroom, and he could just barely hear Ford mumble, "Well,  something would be nice."

 

Stan started eating lunch with Carla every day. It was nice to spend his time with someone who actually wanted him around;  she didn't seem to think he was suffocating. And her friends seemed to like him, too.

Turns out, friends weren't nearly as hard to make when he was actually interested in having any.

Carla even got him to start doing his homework- or, at least, attempting it. She said he was cute, and she liked him, but she wouldn't date a total slacker, so he'd better shape up.

Which was fine, actually. Stan felt weird about copying off Ford now, anyway. He didn't even sit next to his brother anymore, if he could help it.

 

Ford stopped talking to him almost entirely.

That was fine. At least now Stan wasn't "suffocating" him. At least Stan wasn't "dragging him down."

Ford stopped talking to almost  everyone .

And that....

That was fine, too.

 

Ford's science fair project was taking up most of their bedroom.

Stan started sleeping on the couch.

 

Time almost began to blur together for Stan. He was busy, with Carla and boxing, and trying to actually do school.

He  forced himself to be busy, so he didn't have to think about Ford, or worry about him, or see that cold, closed-off look in his eyes.

He didn't want you around, Stan told himself  He doesn't get to be upset about it now.

 

Ford's perpetual motion machine was amazing, impressing even (or, perhaps, especially) the representatives of West Coast Tech.

Everyone was proud, although not particularly surprised. Ford was, after all, a genius, and it was only a matter of time before he got recognized for it.

What  was surprising was Stan being offered an athletic scholarship to Backupsmore University.

He'd never thought of himself as a college man, and his first instinct was to turn it down. He talked to Carla about it, talked to his boxing coach, his friends at the gym, his mom, and eventually decided to accept.

He didn't talk to Ford. It didn't feel like it was any of his business.

 

Stan lay on the deck of the Stan-O-War, staring blankly up at the darkening sky as he smoked a cigarette. He missed the time when he thought the ship would amount to something, when it held promise of a future instead of regret and childish naivete.

They had been so close to finishing it, but now it would never see actual use.

What a waste.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Ford asked from the dock.

"I thought you were the captain," Stan said, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"As I recall, we were co-captains."

"Then why are you asking MY permission? You can grant it yourself."

Ford sighed as he boarded the ship. It bobbed slightly under his weight as he sat next to Stan.

"I was being polite," he said.

"Why start now?"

Ford frowned.

"Why have you been acting like this?" he asked, "Ever since you started boxing, you've been acting like... like you're too good for me, or something."

Stan barked a harsh laugh.

"Too  good for you?" he said, "I finally stop living in your shadow and suddenly you think I'm 'too good' for you?"

"Stan-"

"I thought you'd be happy I finally stopped  suffocating you."

"What?" Ford said, "I would never-"

"I heard you!" Stan pushed himself up on his elbows so he could look Ford in the face, "I heard you talking to Shermie about how I was 'suffocating' and 'dragging you down'! Don’t act like you don’t know!"

"That-" Ford said, "I didn't- I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" Stan snapped. Ford stared at him, frantically trying to think of a way out, but he came up with nothing. The silence hung between them until Stan shook his head and laid back down again.

"That's what I thought," he said, "Just leave me alone, Ford. I'm done."

Ford didn't say anything more, but Stan felt the ship bob in the water again as Ford returned to the dock. 

He sighed, putting his cigarette out against the side of the ship, half hoping it would catch. But it fizzled out, and Stan was alone in the darkness.

He fell asleep on the boat, and by the time he got home late the next morning, Ford had already left for his flight.


End file.
